Nina rocked gently in her recliner, gazing out the bay window beside her. Her son, a solid six-foot-four, held a branch back for her husband, five-foot-five. They had been messing with that fir tree for weeks now, trimming here and trimming there in preparation for Christmas. Her husband’s sawing arms were ghostly against her son’s olive complexion, and they worked together to bring a sad-looking, tiny limb from the future Christmas tree.
Nina kept rocking, longing to know if her husband’s sample was truly his.